


Raspberry champagne kisses at midnight

by thewolvescalledmehome



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, New Year's Eve
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-16
Updated: 2017-10-16
Packaged: 2019-01-18 02:25:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12378921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewolvescalledmehome/pseuds/thewolvescalledmehome
Summary: For the photo prompt on tumblr (photo was a picture of a lipstick kiss)Or Margaery drags Sansa to her family's New Year's Eve gala, Sansa gets tipsy and hides out with the only tolerable person at the party: Jon Snow.





	Raspberry champagne kisses at midnight

Sansa knew she was dealing with her breakup like a sixteen year old, but really this was her first breakup. She was allowed to wallow and eat ice cream in bed for a few weeks. Even if those few weeks turned into a month or two.

Margaery didn’t agree with that though. She thought that, given the fact the relationship was never a whole lot more than friendship, Sansa should be over it by now. Even if it was her cousin that Sansa had been dating.

“Look, I get he was your first serious boyfriend and all, but Willas is a tool. He’s not worth all this,” Margaery told her, motioning at Sansa’s pajamas and pint of ice cream.

“It’s not even Willas I’m upset about. It’s more the relationship in general,” Sansa shrugged. It was the lost of the friendship she’d had with Willas for years before they started dating two years ago.

“Okay, I can get that. But Sansa, you have got to get out of those pjs. Come out with me. It’s nearly the holidays. They have that Christmas flavored drink you like again.”

“I’m good here, thanks.”

“I’ll give you this weekend. I’m getting you out of the apartment before the new year, though.”

“Sure, Margaery.”

“I’m serious, Sansa.”

“Okay.” Margaery stared at her for a beat before pushing off from the doorframe. Sansa waited until she was gone to turn the sappy romantic comedy back on. She didn’t need additional shit from Margaery.

* * *

“Hey, my parents are throwing some kind of New Year’s gala. You can be my plus-one.” Margaery was sitting on the end of her bed this time, flipping through a magazine.

“Marg, I’m all for going out somewhere, but let’s start small, yeah? A high society New Year’s gala shouldn’t be the first time I go out again.”

“Au contraire, I think it’s the perfect excuse to get back out there. We’ll go get new dresses, get our hair done. Plus, there’ll be tons of pretty boys all dressed up to stare at all night.”

“I’ll think about it,” Sansa answered, sparing Margaery a small smile.

“I will take that. But I need an answer soon, so we can go dress shopping.”

“Yeah, okay.”

“You’ll think about it? Promise?”

“Yeah. I’ll think about it.”

“Okay. Good.”

 

Sansa did think about it—think about good excuses to get out of it. Spending six or seven hours with all the high society types in a fancy dress and heels didn’t really sound all that appealing. If Margaery was suggesting something else—a small party, or going out to a bar, she might have considered it, but not this. A gala? No, she was good with her ice cream, sweats, and _Bridget Jones_ movies, thanks.

* * *

Two weeks before the holidays, Sansa started feeling restless though. She wasn’t sure what it was that caused it: the fact that she’d run out of semi-decent romantic comedies on Netflix or the fact she hadn’t worn makeup or done her hair in anything other than a sad knot in weeks. The idea of getting dressed up, wearing bold lipstick, started to actually sound appealing. She still didn’t think a high society gala was the ideal way to spend New Year’s Eve, but after weeks in pajamas with unshaved legs it might be exactly what she needed. She just hated the face Margaery would make when she agreed.

“Fine,” was all she said, walking past Margaery’s room on the way to her own. Margaery tackled her in the hall, preventing her from escaping fully to her room.

“Fine? As in, fine, you’ll go?”

“Yes,” she sighed.

“Yes!” Margaery squealed, hugging her. “We’ll go dress shopping this weekend, yeah? I’ll go call so we can definitely get in for hair appointments. Ah! I’m so excited!” Margaery ran off to grab her phone and start looking at dresses online, no doubt. Sansa smiled at her friend’s excitement, feeling a little of her own flare up too. Margaery’s excitement was infectious which was how Sansa thought she’d get through the hours of dress shopping and getting their hair styled. That part she generally found tedious, but it was hard to get annoyed when she had Margaery bounding alone beside her.

* * *

The day of the gala Sansa was up early, suddenly eager about the whole ordeal. The idea of being pampered for the afternoon actually sounded fun, though she was still dreading the hours she was going to spend in heels.

And she was dreading the high society types she would have to put up with all evening. Sansa loved Margaery and her family, but they were the exception, not the rule. The friends of the Tyrells were nothing like the Starks.

The Starks were hardworking people who preferred to live well within their means. Sansa knew her parents made quite a lot of money—enough to pay for college for all five children—but Sansa also knew a lot of that was because her parents knew how to save money. They didn’t flaunt it. The Starks probably could have reached the same level of status as the Tyrells, they just preferred not to. They saw money as a necessary evil and not much more.

The Tyrells and their friends were different. They liked their money and they liked people knowing they had money. The Tyrells at least tended to donate money to non-profit charities that actually did good in the world. Their friends tended to donate to companies that someone could always trace back to some oil company or another.

All of the people her age would be premed or prelaw students that were going into those fields for the money—Ivy school legacies who got in on their name and not their merit. They may be pretty, but they were shallow as hell.

“Will there be anyone of substance at the gala?” Sansa asked as a woman brushed out her freshly washed hair.

“Us. Loras, if you count him. Couple other family friends. We’ll be tipsy the whole time though, so everyone will seem twice as deep as they actually are.”

“Well, that’s reassuring.”

“It’ll be fun. Good food, good champagne, open bar. We can leave after midnight if you want to.”

“Okay, okay.”

“Plus, my grandma will be there and she’s always fun when she’s had a bit of whiskey and around these types. Last year she called out someone’s affair.”

“That must’ve been entertaining.”

“Oh, yeah. I don’t know how she does it. It’s like she knows everything.”

“Well, that’s terrifying.” Margaery shrugged.

“It’s fun. I promise, tonight will be fun.”

“If you say so,” Sansa muttered. She still wasn’t fully convinced about anything beyond the good food, open bar, and the fact that she did need to get out of the apartment.

* * *

Sansa stood in front of the mirror, looking at the dress her and Margaery had picked out combined with her hair and makeup. It was a bottle green strapless dress with high slit up the side. The hairdresser had waved her hair and clipped it so it fell over one shoulder, leaving the other bare. Sansa went subtler with her makeup, doing only a little more than she typically did, figuring the dress could speak for itself.

Plus, it wasn’t as though she was looking to meet anyone tonight. She just needed a night out.

Sansa thought Margaery was going for a different effect. She was stunning in her black dress with its plunging neckline, her hair done up in an elaborate knot. Her makeup wasn’t quite as subtle as Sansa’s—her blue eyes sparkled like sapphires under the thick black false lashes and gold smoky shadow.

“Here, you can use my black coat,” Margaery offered as they went around turning the lights off in the apartment before they left.

“What’re you going to wear?”

“This.” Margaery pulled what Sansa thought looked like a thick white scarf from the closet.

“You going to be warm enough in that?”

“It’s not for warmth,” Margaery giggled and Sansa rolled her eyes. Her friend was exactly the type of person to put fashion over comfort even in the dead of winter. “Are those the shoes you’re wearing?” Margaery asked, stopping just before opening the door. Sansa looked down at her snow boots.

“Shit, I knew I was forgetting something.” Sansa ran back to her room to grab the shoes she planned on wearing at the party—a black pair of strappy heels. “Just holding off putting them on as long as I can. I can leave my boots in the car, right?”

“Yeah, a’course.”

The ride to the hotel where the gala was being held was long due to traffic. Margaery spent it touching up her makeup and her hair. Sansa most stared out the window at the snow falling softly.

“Here, do you want some?” Sansa turned to see Margaery offering her a tube of lip stain.

“Nah, I don’t want it rubbing off on glasses all night.”

“No, it won’t. I swear this stuff is awesome. It actually stays on. Plus, it’ll go great with your makeup and dress.”

“Fine.” Sansa took the tube and pulled down the little mirror on her side. She put on a light layer of the stain; just enough to tinge her lips a darker shade of pink. Margaery was right. It did go well.

“See, you look great!”

“Thanks.” Sansa passed back the tube and glanced at herself in the mirror again. She did look good. She looked better than she had in weeks.

* * *

Sansa traded an empty glass of raspberry champagne for a full one, moving through the crowd as she did. She’d lost Margaery an hour ago, but her friend had been right. The food was good, the champagne was good, and her lipstick was staying on her lips rather than the glasses.

The only problem was there was absolutely nobody there to socialize with. The last conversation she’d ducked out of revolved around golf scores and the people she’d been speaking to were in her generation. She mostly just listened and sipped from her flute every time it looked like they were going to ask her something.

Sansa stepped into one of corners of the room, turning slightly so no one could see her fish out a raspberry with her fingers.

“They’re the best part, aren’t they?” a voice behind her asked and Sansa turned, chewing the champagne soaked berry. She smiled guiltily at the pretty blonde boy next to her. “I’m Joff.”

“Sansa,” she said, offering her hand.

“So are you here with anyone?”

“A couple of friends. It’s their parents’ party.”

“Ah. So you’re a friend of the Tyrells.”

“I am. What about you?”

“Parents run in the same circles.” Sansa fought to keep her face neutral with that comment.

“Ah.” Sansa opened her mouth to use her _if you’ll excuse me_ line she’d been using all night, but Joff linked his arm with hers, steering her away.

He started up a conversation about some family vacation he’d been on to some fancy hotel, but Sansa wasn’t listening. She was trying to formulate an escape route.

She ended up finishing her drink faster than she had been all evening, hoping the empty glass would give her an excuse to go find a waiter, but she timed it poorly and Joff snagged her one from a passing waiter.

“So we were up north on this boat and there was a whale…” he continued after handing her the flute.

“Oh, I love whales, what kind was it?” Sansa asked, suddenly finding the conversation vaguely interesting.

“Something with a b or an m I think? I’m not sure—”

“Oh, a beluga, maybe? Margaery donated to the Protection of Beluga Whales for by birthday last year.” Joff laughed.

“I forget that the Tyrells are all bleeding hearts. No, I was on a whaling boat. Have you ever had whale before? They’re the most delicious animal I’ve ever eaten.” Sansa thought she might throw up.

 _He was on a whaling boat_? Sansa was pretty sure whaling was illegal with a handful of exceptions, though she’d never considered that _privileged_ was one of those exceptions.

“I’m sorry, if you’ll excuse me…” she muttered, sliding her arm out from his and ducking into the first door she saw, not caring what it was.

She heard Joff saying something, but she latched the door and leaned against it, hoping he didn’t think she was worth the trouble of looking for her.

“Escaping from the douche?” Sansa nearly spilled her drink she flinched so hard. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She turned to see a man sitting against the wall a few feet down from her.

“No, it’s all right. I just didn’t see you.” Sansa took a few steps towards him before sitting next to him on the floor, adjusting the skirt of the dress so that her legs were mostly covered. “Hiding from the pretentiousness?” she joked, sipping from her glass. She felt a little flushed, which meant she was probably tipsy, but that was all right. It was New Year’s and she was drinking raspberry champagne that was probably expensive enough not to give her a headache in the morning. The man grinned sheepishly. “I’m Sansa.”

“Jon,” he offered quietly.

“Nice to meet you.” His lips quirked in a soft smile and Sansa felt hers do the same.

“Did I hear that guy right? He was on a _whaling_ boat? And talking about eating whale?”

“Oh, I know! I’d been trying to get rid of him, but that was the last straw. I mean, who brags about that?”

“Those types, that’s who. I overhead a conversation about someone going trophy hunting and killing an elephant for its tusks. It’s like these people think they’re above the law and just common morality.”

Sansa thought she should maybe explain that the Tyrells were different—they cared about animals, nature, global warming. They would never go hunting, and especially not endangered species, but Jon had a point. Everyone else in that room probably did.

* * *

Sansa knew she should rejoin the party, but she got lost in her conversations with Jon. He was probably the only other person there who preferred sitting on the floor in a dark room to the party. She stayed long after she finished her drink and ate the raspberries shamelessly with her fingers.

And Jon was different. He reminded her of boys from her neighborhoods growing up more than the men in the other room. He was more down to earth and didn’t seem to care so much about money. He was far more like the people Sansa liked to spend time with, which was probably why even when the chanting started in the other room she didn’t leave.

Instead, when she heard the cheers, she leaned over and kissed Jon on the mouth.

She knew it was the champagne that made her do it, but damn was she glad to have done it.

Sansa expected him to taste like champagne the way she probably did, but he didn’t. He kissed her back softly, gently, causing Sansa to lean in when she would’ve normally pulled away.

“Sansa?”

She broke the kiss when she heard her name.

“Shit, that’s Margaery. I’d better go. It was nice to meet you, Jon.” She leaned over to kiss his cheek before hurrying towards the door. She heard Jon behind her but she was rushing to catch up with Margaery.

“Marg,” she called, causing her friend to turn.

“Oh there you are. Your lipstick’s all smeared—” Margaery gasped, grabbing Sansa’s hand. “Were you kissing someone?!”

“Maybe,” Sansa blushed.

“Who were you kissing?” Sansa glanced behind her and saw Jon leaving the room, heading in the opposite direction from them. “You were kissing a waiter?”

“How’d you know he’s a waiter?” Sansa asked, feeling suddenly defensive of Jon.

“Well, that’s a waiter’s uniform he’s wearing, and he’s heading towards the kitchens.”

“Oh, well, then yes. I was kissing a waiter.”

Margaery laughed, asking for all the details, as they walked down the hallway. Sansa turned around again before they left, hoping to catch another glimpse of Jon.

 _A waiter,_ she thought. _No wonder he was different._

* * *

“Jon, you’ve got lipstick all over your face,” Val said as soon as he walked into the kitchen. She threw a napkin at him and he wiped it off quickly, shoving the napkin in his pocket before picking up the tray of champagne in front of him and heading back out into the party.

* * *

It wasn’t until a week later that Jon was emptying out the pockets of his work pants to do laundry. He threw the napkin in the trash but paused when he saw the dark pink on it. He flashed back to the night of the party, kissing the beautiful woman in the dark room.

 _Sansa_ , he thought her name was.

Still holding on to the napkin, Jon flung himself down in front of his computer, pulling up Facebook. He typed _Sansa_ into the search bar and was disheartened with the number of people that popped up. He’d never find her that way.

Instead, he clicked over to the photo album for the gala that was linked on the catering company’s page.

There were over a thousand photos from that night.

Jon sighed deeply, and opened the album, determined to find her.

He was still going through it an hour later when Sam got home.

“What’re you doing?” Sam asked, coming up behind him.

“Looking for the girl from New Year’s.”

“Did you find her?”

“No. She’s not tagged in anything. I saw one that might’ve been her, but it was just the back of her head.”

“You’re obsessed, mate.”

“I’m not obsessed. She was just…different.”

“Yeah, all right.”

Jon sighed again, clicking through the last couple of pictures with dying hope.

“All right, I’m off to work,” he muttered, shutting the laptop.

“You’ve worked nearly every night this week,” Sam commented. Jon ducked his head, hoping to hide the flush that was coloring his face. He didn’t want to admit the reason he was starting to pick up extra shifts at work, volunteering to work all the high society events he tended to avoid.

He wanted to see her again.

* * *

Jon was exhausted. He’d worked ten events over the past week alone, and he had yet to see anyone that even remotely resembled the woman from New Year’s. Had it not been for the napkin sitting on his desk, he would’ve thought she was a figment of his imagination.

He knew his friends, his co-workers, were starting to get irritated with him. It’d been three weeks since the New Year’s gala and Val was one event away from telling him to drop it. If he hadn’t seen her by now, there was no point in actively trying, she’d say. She’d say to leave it up to fate.

Except Jon and fate didn’t have a great track record with each other. He didn’t trust fate.

“Jon, get off that bloody photo album,” Val called and Jon quickly dropped his phone into his pocket. They were out with some others from the wait staff, getting a few drinks after a late event.

“I wasn’t on it,” he lied. He’d been going through it again, just in case he’d missed something the first two times. Some clue.

“Here,” she sighed, slapping a paper down in front of him.

“What’s this?”

“The guest list from the New Year’s gala. You said she mentioned the friend she came with.”

Jon grabbed the list eagerly, first skimming for Sansa’s name, and when he didn’t find it, looking for the one she’d mentioned in a rush on her way out the door.

“Margaery, I think it was,” he muttered, his finger trailing down the list.

“Did you say _Margaery_? As in, _Margaery Tyrell_? Her parents threw the damn thing.” Jon flipped through the list, Val’s words ringing in his ears.

Margaery Tyrell was the only name remotely close to Margaery on the list.

With a sinking sense of dread, Jon pulled his phone out and typed her name in to the search bar on Facebook.

Margaery Tyrell was definitely the woman he remembered seeing Sansa leave with. He quickly pulled up her friends list, and saw Sansa’s name.

_Sansa Stark_

“That’s her. Sansa Stark. Margaery Tyrell’s best friend,” he whispered, holding his phone out for Val and the guys to see.

“Oh, rough luck mate,” one of the other waiters said pityingly.

He didn’t have a shot in hell with Sansa Stark.

* * *

After realizing who the woman was who had kissed him on New Year’s, Jon quit volunteering for every event. He worked his normal hours and came home, ignoring his computer where he could so easily send her a friend request. Ignoring the lipstick stained napkin on his desk he knew he needed to throw out.

Sam and Val both kept trying to get him out—they said it was as if he was mourning a relationship, which was ridiculous because he’d barely spent three hours with the woman. But he was in mourning—mourning the loss of the girl who would be perfect for him.

“Why don’t you come out with us? Edd’s found a new pub,” Sam asked, leaning against his doorframe.

“Nah.”

“Well, you can’t wallow forever. You didn’t even know her.”

“I’m not wallowing.”

“Yeah, all right.”

“I’m not.”

“Then come out with us.”

“No, thank you.”

“Fine, suit yourself.” Jon could hear the tinge of hurt in Sam’s voice and it was almost enough to get him out of the house, but not quite.

He wasn’t wallowing. He just wanted a quiet night in.

* * *

It was an hour later when Jon’s phone rang. He expected it to be Sam or Edd, or one of the other guys they were out with tonight, telling him to meet them wherever they were, but it wasn’t. It was an unknown number.

Jon’s finger hovered over the red IGNORE button, but something had his finger hit the green one instead.

“Hello?”

“Erm, yeah, hi. Is this Jon Snow?” a female voice asked.

“Yes,” he answered slowly, assuming it was some obnoxious survey where they would ask about his voting habits.

“Hi, I don’t know if you remember me. It’s Sansa Stark, from New Year’s?” Jon shot up in bed, his hand flying to his hair as though she could see it. He hated how fast his heart was pounding.

 _Of course I remember you,_ he wanted to say, but he stomped that down.

“How’d you get my number?” he asked instead.

“I called the catering company that worked the gala at New Year’s and gave them your description. They gave me your number,” she admitted, sounding sheepish.

“Oh.” Jon didn’t know what to say to that.

“Anyway, um. I was wondering, if you’d be at all interested in going out with me sometime, maybe?” Jon thought she sounded nervous, but that couldn’t be right. Why on earth would she be nervous asking him out?

“Yeah, yeah, a’course. I’d love to,” he said quickly and then felt a sickening flush at how eager he sounded.

“Great. Great, that’s great. Um, how’s this weekend? Saturday?” He could almost hear the smile in her voice.

“Yeah, yeah, Saturday’s good.”

“All right. I’ve got to go, but we can figure out the rest later, yeah?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Okay. Talk to you later, Jon.”

“Yeah. Bye, Sansa,” he said a little too softly. He just made out her giggle before the line went dead.

Jon flopped back on the bed, pressing his face into the pillow to hide his enormous grin.

He was going out with Sansa Stark.


End file.
